Story Title: Perfect
Author: Hawk Martin
Disclaimer: I don't own Draco, but I do own Elizabeth Whitney. So there.
Dedication: To 'Lana. I figured that it was about time I dedicate something to you…again. P.S. No, this is not a "sweet, awww…" moment. This is a "thanks for all those cigarettes," moment. Enjoy, those of you that like the sloppy kind of love. I
A/N: Yes, this is an 'insert-my-own-fucking-character-'cause-I-feel-like-it' kind of fic. Is it a Mary Sue? Well, first off, my character isn't named Mary, so that would be wrong. Second, she's flawed. Then again, she's based off of me so she'd have to be flawed. Anyway, I've put her in other fics of mine: Bittersweet Musings from a Sarcastic Soul, The Fall, and Hell's Blessing. If you want her profile to learn more about this tantalizing character—no, really—than send me an e-mail at and I'll reply with my generally charming sarcasm and give you the head's up. Yeah. Okay. I know. Get on with the bloody fic.
Summary: It was a paradox: the world strived for perfection—begged for it—but would then condemn it when found between two enemies in the noblest of ways.
Notes: Yeah. It has a shitty ending.
Rating: Italics for fun, emphasis, or to outline the basics of the story and keep me amused for approximately 30 seconds. Bold for emphasis, but in a different way.
Warning: Don't run into walls. It hurts.
If there was ever a moment that Draco would've loved to scream, this was it.
She was asking the impossible. More importantly, she was asking the impossible when they both knew she was right. But the world did not bow down to the moral dilemmas of two teenagers; ergo he knew there was no realistic answer. If he caved, nothing in their lives would ever be the same and infinitely worse. If he didn't, the ironic loneliness would leave him suffocating and soon nothing would matter except the claustrophobic mistake itself.
He was drowning.
"This is hardly the time, Liz."
"There will never be a time for this."
"So, why ask?"
"…Why not?"
A burst of frustration hit him in waves of sultry panic, anger fleeing his veins as the world seemed to melt away from his gaze. He closed his silver eyes and tried to erase the mist from his head. They had been perfect together—stealing kisses in Hogwarts' dark hallways; fighting over absolutely nothing; letting the hatred of each moment eventually drive them to love. It was a paradox: the world strived for perfection—begged for it—but would then condemn it when found between two enemies in the noblest of ways. The anger bit a harsh flame as her placid words echoed throughout his brain, mingling with seductive images of blue against silver and flesh upon flesh.
"I do."
"I never took you for a bride."
"Stop messing around—this is serious."
"Everything's serious with you, Draco."
He cast an infuriated glare on her, perfection soaking the silky air between them. Draco held the girl close, so close that he began to think Liz as another part of his body—the better part. Bitter amusement gleamed in his eyes, victory reflected in hers, and loathing adoration could be heard in his voice.
"You're too good for me."
"Perfect, remember?"
Draco allowed himself a small smile as they kissed, her lips clearing away the confusion. With a wolfish grin they both knew all too well, soft whispers rose from his mouth as she stole away his heart. The world had handed him a silver platter, covered in blood, and Draco would know clean it all way.
"Yes…perfect."